


Where the Wild Things Are

by immoral_crow



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:50:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4201575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immoral_crow/pseuds/immoral_crow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because of Eames, Arthur learned to fall in love with dreaming again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Wild Things Are

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very old one, put on AO3, finally, for reasons.

Because of Eames, Arthur learned to fall in love with dreaming again. 

After so many years when dreams were a matter of life and death, he was astonished the first time that Eames had pulled out the PASIV on a Friday evening and, eyes alight with mischief, knelt in front of Arthur like a knight in front of his lady. 

‘So darling,’ and gods but Arthur adored his voice. ‘Want to spend 15 minutes with me?’

And Arthur, expecting some other-worldly sexual experience, had gone under with good grace.

He’d thought he knew Eames. They had worked together for years, and had been spending a significant proportion of free time together for months now, but as Arthur awoke that first evening, eyes bright and cheeks dimpled from being Calvin to Eames’s Hobbes, he realised that there was more to this man than he had ever imagined. 

Eames had grinned, wide and brilliant and as Arthur tore out the line and tumbled, all arms and legs and enthusiasm into Eames’s lap like the teenager he never had been, he realised that he was hooked on this.

Maybe he was still expecting the dreams to turn sexual, but they never did, and as the pattern repeated over the weeks and months Eames opened up whole new worlds for Arthur. 

They explored Narnia: the forests and castles, the talking animals and princes. They spoke with Aslan and afterwards neither would say what they’d discussed, but for weeks their eyes glowed golden like lions’ in their dreams. 

When Eames set the clock for 6 hours he took Arthur back to Roman Britain to search for a lost Eagle, helping an injured centurion and his slave and afterwards, when they’d awoken, Arthur had knelt, helpless, in front of Eames, holding his hands and feeling closer to tears than he had been since infancy.

Arthur’s favourite time was when he visited the Wild Things, and roared and stomped and made a wild rumpus, and then when he was tired, curled in a ball with Wild Thing Eames and discovered that his idea of home seemed to be wherever Eames was. 

When they visited the Hundred Acre Wood Arthur had a brief and deeply worrying conviction he would be Piglet, but Eames just smiled and took his hand, and Arthur realised, as Eames became small and rotund, that he was Christopher Robin, and they spent the afternoon playing pooh-sticks and visiting with Owl and Rabbit. Next morning Arthur made Eames toast with honey for breakfast and was delighted when, an hour later, they both picked themselves up off the floor, Eames’s kisses still sticky and sweet. 

And whatever they were, wherever they went, whether they were exploring monstrous Lovecraftian deeps or playing quidditch against Potter and Malfoy, Eames was always there, always protecting him in the dreams. And Arthur allowed him to. 

The first time he saw this aspect of Eames, he was worried his protective nature would bleed into work dreams, but it never did. Together they worked as a team, taking apart mark after mark, never shying away from the head shot when necessary, and next night Eames would slay dragons for Arthur, lay cloaks over puddles, and wrap him, warm and loved in his arms.

....

Weeks of shared dreams became months, and somehow rolled past the one year mark (and really, who would keep track of such things? Arthur would say that to you, and he would be lying. If you knew the right passwords and encryption codes you would find documents journaling where they had been, what they had done, what he had felt – all backed up more securely than any other work he did.) It was around this time that Arthur decided to change things. 

It had been a long week, a hard week, and Eames had the light in his eyes that told Arthur he was planning which world to show him tonight, but instead Arthur crossed the room and knelt in front of Eames. He put two fingers on Eames’s wrist and said ‘Please?’

Eames nodded, so Arthur put in the needle and kissed Eames on the forehead as his eyes closed.

If Eames had to guess he would say that Arthur had brought him to a maze. It was nothing like the worlds Eames had created, the treasures of his childhood he wanted to share with Arthur (and that reminded him, Swallows and Amazons! Treasure Island! The Secret Garden! There was so much he still needed to do!) but Eames had never been anywhere so beautiful. 

They walked in silence, hand in hand, and Eames was overwhelmed by the sensation of belonging, of rest, of completion. 

He knew instinctively when they had reached the centre of the maze, and both stopped and looked at each other.

‘I don’t have your imagination,’ Arthur said simply. ‘But this is my heart.’

And everywhere around him, in the facets of the maze, Eames could see the reflection of his face, sometimes in Narnia or dressed as a Wild Thing, sometimes in serious suits and levelling a gun, always lit with love and pride.

Often when they woke up, Eames would feel the emotions of the dream around him, almost tangible in their intensity. Sometimes they would stay with him through the week.

He had never felt like this. 

Arthur sat opposite him, pale and vulnerable and perfect, and Eames could see him in his mind’s eye leading a merry dance of the Wild Things, fighting alongside King Peter in Narnia, rolling with a tiger on an eternal sunny afternoon. 

He crossed over to where Arthur was and sat next to him. He took Arthur’s face in his hands, and ran his thumbs up his jaw, caressing his cheekbones before he lowered his mouth to Arthur’s and kissed him. 

There had been three perfect kisses in the history of the world, but Eames knew that this had surpassed them all. The warmth and emotion from the kiss spread through Eames, blending into the lingering emotions from the dream and Eames thought that these emotions might be strong enough to last forever.


End file.
